Doubt
by Dasha Feather
Summary: Rose is outside on the roof when he finally finds her. Ten/Rose, Ten II/Rose, underlying Nine/Rose.


_**Title:** _Doubt_  
**Characters:**_ Ten/Rose, Ten II/Rose, underlying Nine/Rose  
_**Rating:** _PG  
**_Genre:_** Fluff, angst  
**_Spoilers:_** Christmas Invasion (if that even counts) and Journey's End.  
**_Disclaimer:_** Doctor Who © BBC.  
_**Summary:** Rose is outside on the roof when he finally finds her._

**Author's Note:**I should be revising for my A-Level exams right now… instead I wrote this. My own way of dealing with (and accepting) Journey's End (hey, I came late to the party), whilst doing some regeneration angst/fluff. Also, the header is something I've never done before.

--

_Doubt thou that the stars are fire;  
Doubt thou that the sun doth move;  
Doubt truth to be a liar;  
But never doubt that I love._  
-William Shakespeare, Hamlet

--

_The Powel Estate, December 2005_

--

Rose is outside on the roof when he finally finds her.

This, the Doctor decides, is a little odd given the circumstances. For starters, she must be freezing. It's about minus-two, and though all he can feel is a mild chill, Rose, even with her heavy coat, is human and likely to be shivering. It's quite late; the night is an enveloping blanket on the city, tucking everything to sleep. She should be inside, tucked up herself, in her bed.

Or she should be with him. Considering his recent regeneration, shouldn't Rose be with him, trying to get to know his new self a little better?

"I know you're there." Her voice startles him, and he's momentarily lost for what to do. Eventually, he walks up and sits beside her, albeit a little nervously.

It's the same place they witnessed a spaceship crash right into Big Ben, almost a year ago. How odd that everything except him doesn't seem to have changed at all. He wonders if she realises this.

Rose isn't looking out at the city though; she's looking up at the sky. There are stars out. It genuinely thrills and surprises him to find this, even though he has looked up at them with Rose only hours ago after their Christmas dinner. There shouldn't really be that many stars out because this city is infected with lights and pollution. He's pleased there are though.

There are more than a thousand out; Rose can't take her eyes off them. "I used to come out here when I was younger," she says, "all the time; whenever I had an argument with mum or Mickey, or Jimmy Stone. This one time I'd had this big bust up with Mickey, 'bout Jimmy, and I was crying." She frowns, and he wonders if she even realises what she's saying. She speaks slowly, thoughtfully. "But then I came up here, and all I had to do is look up at the stars. An' I just stopped. You think the whole revolves around you, but all you have to do is look up at the stars, at space, to make you realise that it really, really doesn't. An' the universe, it's a huge place."

The Doctor stops staring at her and looks up at the stars. "That it is," he softly says.

She looks at him then. It's almost as if the lack of anything verbal coming from him before had convinced her he'd been an illusion. Now though, she looks at him, sees he's real, and automatically looks as though she's been hit by a wave of grief. It makes him want to wrap his arms around her and tell her that he is here. It is him.

He doesn't though, because she won't believe him if he did. "Did looking up at the stars make your problems go away this time round?" he asks instead.

She almost smirks, then she looks away from him, back up at the stars. "No," she says.

He eyes her with a gentle gaze; her hands, a cold pink and wrapped around each other; her coat, unzipped and loose around the neck. "Aren't you cold?" he asks.

She shrugs and doesn't answer, as if it doesn't matter. The way her body is turned away from him; the way her lips are tilted down at the sides; the way she doesn't want to look at him — it all makes him want to shake her, shout at her to believe it's him. It's all him. It also makes him want to embrace her.

She frowns then, and turns to face him. He looks back at her, waiting and wondering what she is going to say. "Why are you here?" she asks. "Did mum ask you to come?"

It is his turn to frown now. "Could that be the only reason?" he asks.

She shrugs and looks away again. Her lack of answers, her unwillingness to give him anything… it's beginning to drive him slightly mad. He's about to view this, about to insist she talk to him properly, when she starts to speak. "He's out there right now, you know."

He stares at her for a long time before he answers. "Who is?" he whispers.

She doesn't seem to have heard him. She wets her lips with her tongue before continuing. "Out there… there's not just the whole of space, but time, too. We met Charles Dickens a little under a year ago, but right now he died like... over a hundred years ago. We went to a museum in America and I changed a Dalek, but that hasn't even happened yet." She pauses and frowns as he rubs his thumbs against the lids of his eyeballs.

"Rose I meant what I said before, I can't change back." He looks down at the floor, and even though his companion is right next to him, he is suddenly very lonely. He is struck by how much you can miss something that's right next to you. "I'm sorry."

"I know that." Her voice is odd, and not as sad as he would have thought. When he looks up at her, he finds her watching him.

"I'm the same man, Rose," he tells her softly.

She nods. "I know that, too."

He frowns, and it's then that he realises that she really does know. She just needs this; she needs to know the old him, his old personality that is already beginning to fade just slightly away from his memory, is not completely gone.

He stares at her for a moment, then a small smile begins to fall over his lips. "Do you remember," he asks her, "when you didn't believe me when I told you I never sleep, and you tried to keep awake all night for two nights in a row to watch me and see if it was true?"

The corners of her mouth gradually twitch upwards, her eyes glistening as she watches him, but she raises an eyebrow. "Tried to keep awake?" she repeats. "I did keep awake! An' you nodded off!"

"I did not!" he says, mock affronted.

She laughs and it's wonderful. "You did! I saw you. I even brushed your hair for a bit while you were sleeping, too."

"Ah, well now I know you're lying. I didn't have any hair then, see."

She laughs. "You had just enough to brush," she says, "not enough to put any ponytails or ringlet in though, sadly." Then she eyes his current, chestnut hair (big hair, he remembers he called it). A devilish something settles in her smile.

"Oh no," he says immediately. "Not ever. Ever. You are not… Absolutely not! I don't care how big my hair is — never, never, never ever."

She laughs at him, and rolls her eyes. Her face sobers as she settles back to look up at the stars again. "Doctor?" she says softly, and it's the first time since the sword fight with the Sycorax that she's called him by his name.

"Yes, Rose?" he says quietly.

"It's gonna be different now, isn't it?"

He answers her honestly. "A little, yes." He meets her eye, watching as she frowns. "It'll change a bit," he says, "but we'll still be you and me, travelling in the TARDIS. As long as you want to."

"I'll always want to," she says immediately.

He smiles and nods, more thrilled by her answer than he probably should be. He watches her for a moment, and still sees the small signs of nerves and sadness etched within the skin of her face. "Rose," he says gently, "he's not completely gone, you know. There are scars — certain ways of doing things, favourite flavours, certain looks — some things like that can stay the same."

"Like what?" she asks, curiosity tilting her head.

He thinks about this for a moment. "I still like bananas," he finally says. He stops for a moment, frowning thoughtfully. "I think…?" He then nods, determined. "Yes, definitely still like bananas!"

Rose laughs. "That's a good thing, too," she says, "'cause we've got a whole three bowls full back in the TARDIS." She smiles and leans back, her eyes bridging from star to star up above. He moves his hand across and into hers. She doesn't seem surprised by it, or shake it off; she just looks down at it. "Feels different," she mumbles, almost to herself, before moving her gaze back to the sky.

She seems to be looking for something, though he's not sure what. Up close and holding her hand he can feel how cold she must be and he puts his arm around her, to warm her. This she does seem surprised by, but she doesn't comment on it.

He swallows. "He'll be out there, Rose. He'll always be out there, but he's right here, too. Sat right next to you, holding your hand."

She looks down at their joint hands, then up at him. "I know," she says, and she does. Of course she does. "I just need a little time to get used to it, but when I do…" she loos at him, offers the widest smile he's seen in a long time, "I think it's gonna be fantastic."

--

_The Tyler Manor, July 2008_

--

He finds her on the balcony, which is probably the place he should have looked in the first place when he thinks about it. You can't climb on the roof of this manor without falling off after all — he knows, he's tried.

She's leaning against the rail, hands tied together, as she looks up at the sky. He goes over to her, placing his hands next to hers and watches the stars blink above. "I knew I'd find you here," he tells her.

She untangles her hand long enough to stroke some blond hair behind her ear. "Took you long enough."

There's a silence then, an unnatural one. He wets his lips with his tongue. "Feels odd, doesn't it?" he says.

"What does?"

"Being with each other, in one place... without the TARDIS." He looks down at the ground, not exactly surprised that his single heart aches at the mention of his ship.

"It's different," she says. Then she looks at him, her eyes searching him, making him feel naked under her gaze. She smiles. "But not so different."

He shakes his head, raises his chin. "I'm the same," he says.

Rose nods and turns her head back up to the sky. "He's not up there this time," she says quietly, voice odd and forced. "He's nowhere out there."

He puts his hand on the top of hers — both equal temperatures, both human hands. She looks at them for a moment. "He's right here, Rose," he tells her. "I'm here."

She looks up at him. "You're just the same," she says, tears filling her eyes. "You're not changed at all, not really, and I—" She stops and takes a deep breathe, looks down. "Sorry."

"Why?" he asks.

She looks up at him, a sad glint in her eyes. "'Cause it's hard on you, too, isn't it?"

He looks away and pretends he's fine, never better. "I'm fine," he says, eyes on the stars. It's odd — looking up at them makes him feel so small, when looking up at them before he felt to strong and powerful.

It's been a week, and they've both tried so very hard to move forward one step at a time, but it's like wearing a size five shoe when you're a size eight — you can walk forward a few steps but eventually you have to stop and take them off, because it hurts too much.

She takes his hand from the railing and puts it in hers. "This change," she says, "this staying still stuff. It's gonna be good. We're gonna make it work."

He tilts his head to her, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. "Yeah?" he whispers. She nods and he smiles wider. "And be fantastic?" he asks.

She grins at him. "And be fantastic."


End file.
